Someday
by thanks-for-the-breasthat
Summary: Clarke encounters an unexpected issue after she and Bellamy finally give in to each other. Started out as a legit prompt, then just became smut (what else is new). Bellarke.
1. Chapter 1

Clarke waited till she was alone in the infirmary, her mother out for lunch, then rushed to the storage room—or the tiny closet that passed for one—and pushed aside the trays of glass vials in the middle shelf. She rummaged past the burn cream to the rarely used sleeping pills gathering dust, and then finally at the far back, she saw the shrink wrapped case of small plastic bottles.

She glanced over her shoulder, chewing on the inside of her cheek. A poke of her fingernail through the plastic and then she was fumbling a bottle free, tucking it into the inside pocket of her jacket and pushing the rest of the case to the far back.

Just her luck, she grumbled as she shut the door behind her and strode past the empty metal tables. One time with Bellamy Fucking Blake and her cycle's late, the birth control she'd swallowed the next morning apparently a dud. They'd gotten carried away with themselves, late in his tent one night in the dark. Darkness lowers inhibitions. Lowers them enough that quiet kisses turn into biting and sucking, that warm caresses harden into grasps at fewer and fewer clothes.

Not that she regretted having sex with Bellamy. Far from it. He'd earned his reputation around the camp that was for sure, earned it a thousand times over. Just thinking about looking down her body to see his head between her thighs, the feel of his thick hair shifting between her grasping fingers as his tongue—God, his _tongue_—did unspeakable things to her. . .

Given any other circumstances, Clarke would have paid more attention to the way her pants were rubbing at her thighs with each step, but now other things hung in her mind. Weighed as heavy as the plastic bottle in her jacket pocket, bumping against her stomach as she walked through the corridors of the Ark, nodding at the men and women who gave her a wave or a simple "hello."

That night had been two weeks ago, and still she and Bellamy hadn't gotten any time together since then. There had been far too much to do, helping with permanent housing, hunting, gathering, searching for medicinal herbs and gathering water to run through the filtration systems. The tentative peace with the grounders was still tense, just another thing to worry about without Bellamy's hands and lips to take her mind off of all that needed to be dealt with.

Though perhaps now she should avoid his hands and lips, she snorted to herself as she made her way to the wooden outhouses lined up along the far edge of the fence. Just holes in the ground at this point, no proper plumbing. Though for her purposes, it suited her well enough. She wasn't going to complain.

Inside the dark stall, she took a single deep breath. It'll all be fine. Perfectly fine. It's just precautionary. Nothing more.

And yet her hands were shaking as she pressed the cap to twist it open, shaking out the folded slip of paper into her palm.

"Bellamy, I'm going to kill you," she muttered as she unfolded it, glancing over the instructions. Simple enough. The small tablet resting in the bottom would turn the solution blue if positive. Clear if negative.

She struggled with her pants one-handed, heart quickening as each second passed.

A baby was the last thing they needed. Another life on this planet. She'd promised herself long ago that she'd never give birth to a child in a world unfit to raise one. And an Earth without permanent shelter, dwindling medical supplies, and next to no guarantee of safety was the exact opposite of ideal.

Clarke resealed the bottle once she was done, sitting down on the stone cold seat to wait. The paper only said it would be a five minute wait until the solution was done.

The wait was the worst part. She put her head in her hands, closing her eyes. Bellamy was a good lover, there was no denying that, but she'd take back his muscled body against hers, the way his narrow hips had met hers over and over and over again, just to not have to be sitting here in a dim toilet stall, waiting for a damn pregnancy test to tell the future.

Clarke jumped as someone banged on the door. "Hey, anyone in there?!" Raven.

"Yeah, uh, just a sec." She glanced at the container but it still hadn't changed so she shoved it in her pocket and opened the door.

"Oh hey," Raven said, hands in the pockets of her red coat. "Everything all right? You were in there for a while."

Clarke shrugged, stepping out of the stall.

"That time of the month?"

Clarke resisted wincing. "Something like that."

Raven tilted her head to the side, brow furrowing. "All right, well I'll see you around."

Clarke forced her legs forwards, trying not to shake.

Midday at camp Jaha was bustling with activity, different work groups breaking for lunch, gathering under the shade of tarps spread for shade, laughing and sweaty with the day's work. Across the way, she spotted Bellamy standing with Octavia, arms crossed over his chest, faded and stained white shirt stretched tight over his arms.

She made a beeline for the closest entrance to the Ark before he could spot her and come talk. That was the last thing she needed. She didn't think she would be able to keep the obvious worry off of her face around him. He had a right to know. But only if there was anything to worry about.

The weight in her pocket seemed heavier than ever. By now it would have turned. The answers rested in her pocket and she couldn't even look yet.

Back in the infirmary a middle aged man waited, cradling his wrist against his dirty shirt. His clothes were powdered with sawdust, and he smelled of sweat and freshly cut wood. Clarke cursed mentally, hoping that she'd have a few seconds alone at least.

"Hello Clarke," he said, straightening from his lean against the metal exam table.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she said quickly, not very sorry at all. She didn't know the man, but she'd grown used to people knowing her name now. When you were one of the only medically trained people in camp, it was a given that people knew who you were.

"Oh it's no problem, I was just hauling around some of the logs and my wrist gave out. It hurts, but doesn't feel broken."

She tested the joint, but he was right. It was starting to swell, and bruising a little, but nothing felt out of place.

"Ice it for now and keep it raised. I'd say stay away from using that arm for at least a week or so just to be sure, but it seems generally okay. If you have any more trouble come back and see us."

"Of course." He shook her hand briskly with his good arm. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," she said, trying her best to smile and probably failing.

After he'd left she turned her back to the door, pulling the bottle from her pocket before she could convince herself otherwise. Time was limited.

Her heart stopped beating all at once, and a mumbled "fuck," slipped out.

There was no mistaking the deep blue. She was pregnant.

* * *

><p>Clarke shoved the bottle back into her pocket. She'd toss it away out of sight later. First some research.<p>

She strode to the shelf across the room, where a mismatched row of books resided on their stainless steel shelf. Her hands were steady as she pulled the heavy blue volume from the shelf, determination settling in her stomach.

She ran a finger down the index, flipping through the book until the title "Contraception and Abortion" stood out against the page. A day of taking herbs. That's all it would take. And then this whole mess would be behind them. Did Bellamy even need to know?

She hesitated, chewing on her lip. Apprehension rustled under her heart.

Yes. He had a right to know. If anyone should know, it would be him.

"Clarke?" her mother said from the door.

She slammed the book shut, shoving it back on the shelf. "Hey, Mom."

"Anyone come in while I was away?"

"Sprained wrist. Nothing I couldn't handle." She turned around, hands braced on the table.

Her mother nodded, looking distracted. Clarke couldn't complain. She had her own problems to worry about. "Well you can take off for the day if you want. There hasn't been much traffic recently."

"Sure. I'll see you later." Her mother squeezed her arm as she passed, offering a quick smile before she returned to sorting supplies. "Our stocks are getting a little low so I'll see about that."

"That'd be great."

The purple leafed weed stuck in her mind, the glimpse she'd gotten just before she'd shut the book.

Slipping out of camp was easy with so much traffic. No one noticed, and even if they had, there was no reason to doubt Clarke Griffin, the girl who'd led the 100 next to Bellamy Blake from the very start.

* * *

><p>"Bellamy?" Clarke whispered tentatively in the darkness. There were no lights in his tent, but she'd seen him duck inside after dinner.<p>

"Clarke?" came the sleepy mumble from inside. "You can come in."

She unfastened the ties and slipped inside in the darkness. All afternoon she'd hunted through the woods with no avail, and now she had to face Bellamy and tell him the truth. She was practically sweating with nerves.

In the dim light filtering through the canvas, she could see him leaning up on one elbow in bed, the pale moonlight shadowing his bare collar bone and pectorals where the blanket had slipped down his chest.

"Sorry for waking you up," she said, fastening the closures behind her.

"I was barely asleep. Something wrong?"

Clarke crawled towards him, sitting down next to him, staying on top of the blanket. "Not exactly."

"Don't get your shoes all over my bed," he laughed softly, nudging her.

She shook her head, smiling for the first time that day. "Bellamy Blake can go for days without washing and when someone comes near his covers with their shoes on he gets all bent out of shape." But she obliged and unlaced her boots, wiggling her toes through her worn through socks after she'd pulled them off.

And then suddenly she was on her back, pinned under his warm body, his lips pressed to hers.

She couldn't help letting out a groan when he pulled her the rest of the way under him, one thigh pressing in between hers.

"I've been waiting for this," he murmured against her cheek, lips trailing down to the hollow beneath her ear.

"Bellamy," she whispered. "Not now." Part of her just wanted to give in, to just lay back to the feel of his wide hands running down her stomach, the feel of his hips against hers.

His lips slowed, lingering for a moment on her throat, but he pulled back, brow furrowing in the darkness. "What is it? Do you. . . not want to do this anymore?"

"No—Bellamy, I—We just need to talk for a minute."

He rolled off of her, sitting up. "If that isn't intimidating, I don't know what is." The dry humor in his voice betrayed his nerves.

Clarke pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. "Last time we did this. . ." she turned the embarrassed part of her mind off, reverting back to medical terms. "The birth control that I took was ineffective. My period was a few days late so I took a pregnancy test this afternoon, and it was positive. And you know as well as I that we can't keep it."

She let out a breath, glancing over to him.

Bellamy's eyes were wide, and his lips parted but no noise came out. After a minute, he seemed to gather his composure. "That's a lot to take in at once." She didn't miss his glance down at her stomach.

"For God's sake, you can't see anything."

"I know—reflex I guess."

She looked away from him, hugging herself tighter. The façade she'd held all day was beginning to fizzle, and now after holding it in, all she wanted to do was cry. She was _not _the girl who got pregnant at eighteen. And yet here she was, in a man's tent for the second time, pregnant with his child.

"So you're going to. . . get rid of it?"

She stared at a hole in her pants, picking at the raw edges. "That's one way to put it. If I can find the herbs I need."

"And if you don't?"

A tightness worked its way into her throat. "There are other methods."

He was quiet for a moment, then reached out to run a hand down her arm. She was still wearing her jacket, the pocket now empty. "_Safe_ methods?"

"Some more than others." Don't cry, you idiot. But the tears were inexplicably running down her cheeks. She didn't _cry_.

"Hey," he murmured. "It'll be okay." And then scooted closer, pulling her against his chest. She stiffened, but his hands were under her jacket, rubbing up and down her back, his breath in her hair.

The scent of Bellamy surrounded her: wood smoke, sawdust, sweat, and soap. The tension gradually eased out of her shoulders and she settled her forehead against the bend of his shoulder, silent tears bleeding onto his skin.

She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "You're taking this surprisingly well," she murmured against his warm skin.

He turned his head to the side to kiss her temple. "I know as well as you that this is no place to raise a child. Not now. With that out of the question, there's only the other option."

"I'm glad you understand."

Even though her tears had stopped, his hand kept moving up and down on her back, and she slipped her arms loosely around his waist.

"But you know something, Princess," he mused with a slight laugh. "Our kids would rule the world."

She laughed, not because it was ridiculous, but because it was true. Bellamy in all his severity was also the only one who could make her loosen up anymore.

His hand slipped under her shirt to trace circles and spirals on her bare back. She let out a long sigh. Tomorrow she'd go out looking again in the opposite direction. And then do some more research. She'd find a way. She always did.

"Can I stay tonight?" she asked, closing her eyes.

"Mmmhmm." She could feel the vibrations rumble through his throat. "Of course."

She drew back, pulling her jacket off, then unzipping her pants, rising onto her knees to tug them down over her hips, then laying back to pull them the rest of the way off.

All the while, she could feel Bellamy's eyes on her bare legs, her rather embarrassingly ratty white underwear.

The blankets rustled as he settled back onto his mat, arm under the pillow. She inched back into his body, curving her back into his warm chest. Her toes traced along his bare shin, and now she could feel that he only slept in his underwear, his firm legs bare against hers.

Bellamy wrapped his arm around her, winding his fingers with hers and pulling her against him. He surrounded her, and she wouldn't have preferred it any other way. Out in front of the rest of the camp, she knew she had to be fearless, stand on her own. But here, it was nice to have someone protecting her, body sheltering hers.

His breath settled into an even rhythm against the back of her neck.

"Your hair smells good," he murmured, and she could feel him nuzzling into it.

"I use the same soap as the rest of you," she said, eyes still closed, mutely aware of his arm tightening around her.

"Yes, but no one else _is_ you." His lips drifted over her throat, sending a shiver down her spine.

"I thought you were going to sleep," she said, voice completely devoid of complaint.

"That was before I had a beautiful girl in my bed," he muttered, pressing a warm kiss to her throat.

She shifted back against him, feeling the stirrings of his arousal. "Until I find those herbs, we don't need to worry about how often we have sex," she whispered.

"You've been through a lot today," he said, pausing his kisses. "I can wait."

"Don't wait." She ground her ass back into his hips and reached a hand behind her to grasp onto his thick hair.

Bellamy growled and nipped at her throat, pulling a gasp from her lips. One hand slipped beneath her shirt, sliding up to cup her breast, hot breath washing across her neck.

All at once the tension in her snapped and she moaned, his thumb and forefinger rubbing her peaked nipple. "Bellamy—"

"Yes?" His voice had to have been an octave lower than usual.

She rolled to face him, and he ran a hand down her body, sliding into her underwear and squeezing her ass. Their breaths mingled in the quiet tent.

"Hmm?" he murmured, nuzzling his nose against her cheek.

The warm fire in her belly pooled lower and lower, thoughts of the baby pushing farther and farther into the back of her mind.

She slid her hand up over the firm planes of his chest. "I want you."

She could feel him smile against her cheek. "Do you now, Princess?" The kiss he pressed to the underside of her jaw was slow and gentle.

His hands sliding down her back, equally so as they circled over her hips to her stomach, tracing light circles just below her navel. Her thighs rubbed together, and she could feel the evidence of her arousal dampening her underwear. Damn Bellamy and his fucking hands.

"Mmm," she groaned.

His fingers dipped past the waistband of her underwear and the touches he pressed over her body were slow and steady, evoking soft noises from her parted lips. His mouth fastened onto her throat and before long, his fingers pressed over the slick folds between her legs and she twitched.

"I guess you do want me," he murmured with a low laugh as he found that bundle of nerves that sent her arching against his bare chest.

"Apparently it wasn't obvious before," she muttered breathlessly against his shoulder, clinging to his firm arm, nails digging into his forearm. "Oh!" His touches quickened, working her to perfection. He certainly knew what he was doing.

And just when she was quivering underneath his thumb, climbing quickly towards the edge of something, he pulled his hand away.

"Bellamy," she groaned in frustration, falling further and further away from the cliff she'd been climbing towards. She grasped at his arm.

And then determination settled in her stomach and she pushed him back onto his mat, swinging one leg over his hips.

His eyebrows lifted and his hands settled on her hips. "The princess is getting impatient, isn't she?"

She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest, his pectorals tensing underneath her fingertips. "Tonight I'm not your Princess." Golden hair fell around his face and she nibbled on his ear. "Tonight I'm your Queen."

Clarke straightened, renewed confidence in her belly. He may have more experience than her, but that didn't mean she couldn't have her own way with him. Letting him do all the work was no fun. She pulled her grimy grey shirt over her head, and then reached behind her to unhook her bra, letting it fall from her body until she was bare before him.

"Queen is a whole different level, I hope you know," he grinned up at her.

She kissed the smile from his face. "Oh I know."

Heat rose quickly in the tent, sweat slickening her back as she rolled her hips against his, grinding against his erection.

She let him tug her underwear over her hips, shifting and bumbling around until she kicked them off her ankle.

Bellamy reached up to grab her breasts, his big hands covering them completely, nipples between his fingers.

He lifted his hips to pull down his tight boxer briefs, and there was no hesitation in Clarke's mind. She lifted herself up, grasping his length to position him.

"Clarke," he groaned as she eased down, head falling back as he filled her up to the hilt.

His fingers dug into her hips and pulled her into motion.

God the wonders of Bellamy Blake never seemed to cease. The severe—sometimes cold—man who rarely smiled could groan like no other. His eyes fell shut as she pumped against him, hips syncing in time with hers, and then snap open to meet hers with such intensity that she climbed ever so slightly higher to the cliff.

Clarke reached down between them, balancing herself with a hand on his stomach, to slide through her wet curls, rubbing herself against her fingers.

"Fuck, Clarke, don't do that," Bellamy muttered, his head falling back.

Her hips bucked against his, fingers rubbing faster. "Just because you know how to use what's in your pants doesn't mean it'll make me finish all on its own," she growled, feeling herself finally getting close.

"Yeah but when you do that it—fuck, I'm about to—" His face contorted and the muscles in his torso tensed against her, his fingers grasping her hips to slow her, digging into her ass.

The heat in her stomach burned through her. She bit her lip, chest heaving. Close. So goddamn close.

Bellamy's arms encircled her, flipping her onto her back. She yelped and then relinquished as his hand pushed hers aside, not bothering to work up to anything, rubbing over that bump hard and fast as her moans grew louder and louder.

Her leg hooked over his hip while his mouth bore down on her throat, a flurry of teeth and tongue.

She breathed against his shoulder, tensing. "Ah—that's—Bellamy!" The cry slipped out unintended, muscles tensing in waves as pleasure rolled through her.

His hand was gone a few moments later, and he rolled off of her, still breathing hard.

"You're one hell of a woman, you know that, Princess?" he said, running a hand through his already messy hair.

She chuckled, still riding the high. "And don't you forget it."

Her thighs were sticky and the sheen of sweat on her back now only chilled her in the open air, so she shuffled closer, wrapping her body around his warmth. He seemed a little surprised at her cuddling advances but said nothing, only settling his shoulder under her head, holding her close with his hand at her back.

The fatigue of the day was beginning to catch up to her now that she was finally relaxed, and when Bellamy reached down to pull the blanket over the both of them, her eyes drifted shut.

"'Night, Princess," he said, and she felt a kiss press to her forehead.

"Goodnight."

Minutes later, just as she was about to drift off, she felt his hand resting on his chest move down, brushing over the front of her stomach, curious at first. She remained still, pretending to be asleep.

After a moment, his hand rested flat against her stomach, thumb stroking over her belly button. She thought he might say something, but after a while he only pulled back and nuzzled a kiss into her hair, settling down into sleep.

And it was then that for the first time in her life, Clarke thought that having a child someday might not be such a horrid thing after all. Not now, but someday. Someday in a time where the world would be worth ruling.

**P.S., Bellamy totally gets off to the thought of Clarke masturbating ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Originally this story was just a one shot, but I was inspired so I went ahead and wrote more. No smut in this chapter, sorry. It's not bad, but if you're freaked out by a little blood, this might not be for you.**

The sight of Clarke curled in a ball on the floor of her tent greeted Bellamy as he pushed back the flap. Half on her mat, bare toes gouging into the packed dirt of the floor.

"Clarke!" More panic than seemed sensible flooded his brain, jolting his limbs forward.

The canteen in his hands fell to the floor, forgotten, as he knelt at her back, touching her shoulder.

She stirred and began to uncurl. "Bellamy, I'm fine. Just really bad cramps." She gave him a wan smile but he could see the shadows under her eyes. Had she been up all night?

It was only mid-afternoon and no one had seen or heard from her all morning. Maybe cramps were much worse than he'd originally passed them off to be if even Clarke Griffin took the morning off to deal with them. But if she was having cramps then that meant. . .

"You took it then?"

She propped herself up on her elbows, reaching out to rub his thigh. He glanced down at her stomach through her threadbare shirt, wondering if it—he didn't want to think about it being anything more than an "it" at this point—was gone yet.

"Last night. The pain woke me up this morning."

The worry must have been evident on his face, because she squeezed his leg. "It's not as bad as it sounds." The muscles in her jaw tensed and out of the corner of his eye, he saw her fingers clench in the rumpled blanket. "There's not much I can do about it except for deal with it. I should probably get up though. Walking will do me good."

He wanted to reach for her, to hold her, to take her pain away, but hesitated. She'd only get snappy with him. If there was one thing he knew she hated, it was hovering. He knew she could take care of herself. . . but that didn't settle his worries any less.

"You sure you're up for that?" he asked anyway.

"I'm fine, it's only slightly worse than normal." She accepted his hand to help her stand, and then sucked in a sharp breath, fingers tightening around his.

His heart was pounding in his chest, anxiety that usually only arose for Octavia's wellbeing flooding through him.

"Damn it," she murmured and Bellamy followed her glance down where a dark stain was spreading down her inner thighs, inching over the fabric at an alarming rate.

Bellamy knew far more about women's bodies than he'd like to, thanks to sheltering his teenaged sister in the floor for so many years. He knew enough to understand just how much blood that was.

"Is that—"

"Normal," she said quickly, though he could sense the shake in her voice, the hesitation that she'd never dealt with this before. For all they knew, "normal" could be completely different.

God, Clarke was strong. She'd be fine. She _had_ to be fine.

He tried to keep the "what if's" from overpowering his mind.

"You don't need to see this," she said quietly, turning away, a curtain of dirty blonde hair shielding her expression from his. She rustled through a box of clothes and pulled out a wrinkled pair of cargo pants.

"I want to help." _I don't want to leave you, Princess._

When she glanced up to him, there was an embarrassed pink to her cheeks and a crease between her eyebrows. "Don't be stupid, you have to work. Hell, _I_ have work."

He glanced down again and she must have noticed, because she looked away and tried to cover the stain, but, _fuck_, it was bigger than her hand.

"Don't worry about me," she said quietly.

He could hear the pain in her voice. God, it was all his fault. If he'd only _controlled_ himself. Clarke didn't deserve this; she didn't deserve to be hiding the day away in her tent curled up on the ground while she bled out _his_ baby.

"What can I do to help?" He reached for her, catching her elbow and pulling her close. "Tell me what to do and I'll do it. I'm not just going to leave you like this all day."

Her arms were curled against her chest between them, and beneath his fingers he could feel the tense set to her shoulders.

"Bellamy—"

At first he thought she might tell him off, tell him to leave. He stiffened for the blow.

"I guess if you want you can go get some things for me?"

He rubbed her back with one hand, smoothing one hand over her wavy hair. Pressed against him like this, he could feel just how slender she really was. Not that he was surprised. Food was scarce and she never looked like she got enough sleep. True, she could hold her own on the ground working and walking everywhere, but her muscles were thin and lithe. "What do you need?"

She hid her face in his chest. He wondered what a hug might have been like in a few months, when there would have been a child between them. "I hate to ask this. . ."

He had a feeling he knew what might be coming, and he hated that she had to ask it.

"You're going to have to get me some pads from the infirmary. Since I can't go anywhere looking like this."

The part of him that was purely male groaned inwardly, the rest of him prepared to do anything for Clarke, even if it meant asking her own mother for feminine products.

"Sure. You just wait here."

"I'll give you a note for her." She tore a half a sheet out of her sketchbook and scribbled a few lines of charcoal. A crisp crease down the middle and she handed it over.

He paused before turning to leave. She was acting surprisingly calm now, for a girl with blood dripping down her legs, face wan and pale.

"Bellamy," she began, grabbing ahold of his sleeve. "Don't worry, okay?"

He offered a slight smile and leaned in to kiss her forehead. "I'll always worry."

He turned and left.

* * *

><p>Abby's back was to him when he stepped inside the infirmary, washing her hands at the sink while a boy sat on one of the tables, one sleeve rolled up.<p>

Bellamy hovered near the door until she turned, wiping her hands on a towel.

Her face hardened when she noticed him. "I'll be with you in just a minute." He knew Abby was far from ignorant to he and Clarke's relationship, and she'd expressed her outright disapproval of her daughter's involvement with him, but that didn't deter him and it never would. Abby could disagree with his methods all she wanted and he'd never budge.

He crossed his arms, the paper in one hand, watching as Abby smiled at the boy, talking to him effortlessly as she swapped an area of his arm before in injecting something. Vaccination maybe?

The boy watched curiously but didn't seem phased in the slightest. She taped a bandage and the boy hopped down, taking the hand of his mother. They left without a word to him.

Heavy silence filled the open room, Abby clearing the steel tray, tossing the needle and antiseptic wipe.

"Hello, Bellamy," she said, sliding the small glass bottle back onto the shelf.

He strode forward. "Chancellor. Clarke asked me to give you this."

Abby's face remained firm, lips a thin line as she took the note, stepping back away from him. She was even skinnier than Clarke, cheekbones sharp, skin stretched tight over bone.

Her eyes snapped up into his. "I'll get back to her myself. You should go back to work." She turned a dismissive eye away from him and headed to the storeroom.

"No."

"I'm not going to argue with you, Bellamy, now get back to work!"

"You can order me around all you like, but Clarke asked _me_ to help, not you."

Abby turned on her heel. "I'm her _mother_. You're just a criminal. You're toying with her and she can't see the truth. It's a good thing for her that I can."

Anger flared through him and he ground his jaw, fighting to keep his composure, if only for Clarke's sake.

When he didn't respond, she disappeared into the back storeroom, emerging later with a canvas bag.

He moved to take it from her, but she jerked away. "You stay away from my daughter, Bellamy Blake." She marched from her room and he paced after her.

_Well it's a little late for that_. The fury that had risen into anger was beginning to fade back into worry.

If Abby realized what was going on. . .

He kept stride with her all the way out the open Ark doors to the tents in rows along the back of the encampment.

"Clarke?" Abby called, not waiting for an answer before pushing aside the flap of the tent.

"No! You shouldn't—" Bellamy said, but Abby had already stepped inside. He ducked in after her. God how horribly wrong this day was going. Maybe Clarke had covered up—maybe she'd changed—maybe—

"Mom!" Clarke stood in nothing but her shirt and underwear. She moved to cover up her pale thighs, but the first thing she reached for were her bloody pants, the stain looking even bigger than when they'd been on.

Her eyes flashed desperately to Bellamy, demanding an explanation, but her mother was already to her.

"What the _hell_ is going on?!" She looked over her shoulder at Bellamy hovering in the entrance.

"Mom!" Clarke hissed, but Abby only pushed him out, closing the flaps behind him.

Griffin Women. Equally as strong, equally as stubborn. Their conversation was far from quiet.

"Mom, he didn't do anything!"

"If you don't explain _right now_ what's. . ."

Bellamy ran a hand through his hair, bracing his hands on his hips. God he was in some deep shit but if he could stand in Clarke's place and take her mother's anger, he would.

"What's this?! Did you take this?"

She must have found the herbal solution.

"He got you pregnant, didn't he?"

"It's not what you think—"

"Did he force himself on you? Clarke this is important, did he force himself on—"

"No! Bellamy would _not_ do that. He is not the one to blame!"

"It's all right, you can tell me." Her voice quieted.

"No, Mom, I'm telling you the truth. Now let me get dressed. It's all taken care of now. it's all done with." Her words faded away.

Bellamy shifted until he could get a glimpse through the gap in the flaps. Abby's arms were around Clarke now, Clarke's blonde hair spilling over her mother's shoulder. Her shoulders were shaking.

Bellamy pulled back, not wanting to ruin it if she saw him looking. He may not agree with Abby, but if she could comfort Clarke, then he would tolerate her.

The rest of their conversation was murmured and Bellamy crossed his arms, ignoring the looks from passers-by.

They'd screwed up, yes, but Clarke was an adult. Abby had sent her to the ground, had condemned her father. The least she could do was treat her like she could deal with life.

Bellamy jerked up when Abby emerged, giving him a brief once over. "If you're going to help you might as well go get some water for her to clean up."

He paused a moment, wanting to go in and see Clarke, but Abby gave him an expectant look so he swiveled around and went to do as she'd asked.

A few minutes later he was back, Abby nowhere in sight.

He poked his head in. "Can I come in?" Clarke looked up, sitting in bed, her arms around her legs.

"Yeah, sure." She pulled the blanket over her lap, but he could see that she was wearing clean underwear now, her thighs still smeared with blood.

"Is your mom coming back?"

"No."

He offered up the water canteen and a few clean cloths.

"Thank you."

Bellamy didn't know what to say, so sat down next to her, watching for any signs he could read, but her face was dangerously blank.

"Turn around."

He considered making a comment about having seen all of her before, but decided against it. "Sure, Princess." He faced the canvas wall, listening to the slosh of the water, the cloth swiping across her skin.

"How you doing?" he asked.

"You can turn around soon, I'm almost done."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

She was silent and her movements ceased.

Bellamy glanced over his shoulders to see her resting her head in her hands, motionless. "Hey, hey, Princess." He reached for her, sliding across the mat to tug her close, her forehead against his neck.

He pulled her bare legs over his so she was sitting sideways in his lap.

"I'm being an idiot," she whispered against the neckline of his blue t-shirt.

"No you're not." He pressed his cheek against the top of her head.

He had to lean closer to hear her words. "Just because I know what I have to do doesn't make the choice any less difficult."

Something twisted deep in his stomach, the same feeling that had mysteriously popped up two nights ago when she'd been asleep. He'd touched her stomach, wondered what it would be like had she made a different decision. Invariably a bad decision of course, but that didn't stop him from wondering.

"I know it's difficult. But it had to be done."

She nodded, otherwise still. After a few moments, she said, "stay with me tonight."

"Always, Princess."

Bellamy finally relaxed when the tension eased from Clarke's shoulders. He pulled the blanket up over her bare legs and stroked her hair.

"You'll be okay," he murmured after slowly peeking down to see if she was asleep. Her limp head was pressing into his shoulder and be breathed in the woodsy smell of her hair. Even quieter: "I love you, Clarke."

Suddenly he heard the faint swish of the tent and looked to the door to see the flap swinging, Abby's slender legs walking away.

**A/N: I haven't decided if this is the end or not. Stay tuned…**


	3. Chapter 3

**In which there's some girl talk, sexy talk, and a certain lack of talk that Clarke's waiting to hear.**

"So you and Bellamy, huh?" Raven elbowed Clarke's side as took the space next to her on the log in front of the fire. It was barely a week after the "incident" and Clarke had been avoiding contact with everyone except for Bellamy since then.

She passed off the flush that rose to her cheeks as the sudden heat of the fire. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, chin raised teasingly. She was surprised Raven hadn't commented on it yet to be honest. A few days ago she'd run into her friend coming back from a night watch shift when Clarke had been scurrying off to the bathroom in Bellamy's shirt, her boots unlaced over bare feet.

She and Bellamy hadn't even labeled their relationship as anything different, but there was no denying the change since that day. She'd slept in his tent—or he in hers—every night since then. He was much more free with his touches outside their private "room," though nothing overly dramatic: a hand on her back as he let her pass first through the door, a grasp of her elbow to lead her in the right direction, a squeeze of her leg under a table, even an arm around her waist once when they were standing next to each other in the early hours before a morning patrol.

Even stranger though, was the dynamic in his (hers? their?) tent. Their kisses grew easier, more natural, away from "let's have sex" to an affectionate "I want you close to me" sort of way. She slept with her head on his chest, his arm around her waist. She awoke to the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips and the smoke and sweat scent of him in her nostrils. He smelled, felt, and _tasted_ like Earth.

"He's completely head over heels for you, it's totally obvious, you know. You can't hide it," Raven said, tucking into her plate of jerky and bread. Better than nutrition packets but still nothing to get excited about.

Clarke looked down at the rough biscuit in her hand and gave a quiet laugh. "It's not that obvious." Head over heels though? Really?

"Oh yes it is." She chewed for a moment, staring thoughtfully into the flames a few feet away.

"Not gonna lie, it's a little weird," Clarke admitted, watching Monty and Jasper pass around a fresh batch of moonshine to the other teens around the fire.

"Weird how? He's got some strange kinks or something? Because I could see Bellamy being into some weird shit. You too. It's the quiet ones that surprise you."

"Hey!" Clarke protested. "No he's not into any of that. At least I don't think he is. I mean, we haven't exactly done much. . ."

"But you've had sex, right?"

Clarke shushed her, looking around, but everyone was too involved in their own conversations to care. Her voice was quieter when she spoke again. "Yeah, but don't go around blabbing that to the whole camp."

Raven smirked. "Well I guess we can compare notes, then."

Clarke snorted. She'd known about the whole Raven-Bellamy hookup and truthfully, she couldn't ever see it happening again. Nothing about them exuded any attraction for the other.

Raven leaned in. "His dick is ridiculous. It's like the size of a—"

"Hey, you two."

Clarke jolted around to see Abby standing in front of them with a plate of boiled onions and smoked boar.

"Hi, Chancellor," Raven said with a smile while Clarke tried to regain her composure. Her mother didn't look like she'd heard what Raven had been saying, thank God. That was the absolute last thing she needed. To be honest, she was surprised that her mother was over here. Usually the rest of the colony ate at tables, the fires a gathering place for the younger crowd.

"Mind if I have a word with Clarke?"

Raven stood, winking at her friend. If only she knew about everything her mother knew. "Sure. Have a nice time." She shot Clarke an "I know what you're in for" kind of look and sauntered over to join another group.

Clarke's mom sat down in Raven's place, setting her food on her lap. "How was your day?"

"All right," Clarke said, picking at her biscuit, offering a quick smile. "I was on gathering rotation, then a watch this afternoon. Nothing exciting."

Abby nodded, not touching her food. Before she'd even opened her mouth to speak, Clarke knew what was coming.

"I think you already know what I'm here to talk to you about, don't you?"

Clarke scuffed at the dirt with the toe of her boot. "Three guesses what it could be."

Abby looked down at her lap. "I just want you to be safe."

"Mom, it's a little late for that. You'll ship me off to the ground when you don't know if the radiation will kill me, but God forbid I'm involved with Bellamy Blake."

Abby's lips pursed. "That's not the same thing, and it's not—" She took a breath. "Sweetheart, whatever first impressions I've had for him, I might have been quick to judge. I still don't agree with everything he's done, not do I like the idea of my daughter. . . being _involved_ with a man like him."

Clarke huffed out a grumbled "well that's obvious." She glanced to where Raven had gotten ahold of some moonshine, wishing she could join them instead of being stuck in a veritable sex talk with her mom.

"_But_, I think he cares for you. I just want you to be more careful in the future so that sort of thing doesn't happen again."

Did she just say what she'd thought she did?

She dug her hand into her pocket. "So I brought you this." She fished out a small plastic case and handed it over. "One a day, don't forget."

Clarke flushed when she realized that her mother had just given her birth control pills in public over a hypothetical dinner table. "Mom!"

"_Be. Careful._ I know it's not your favorite subject. It's not mine either, but I have to say these things anyway. I don't want any grandkids just yet."

Clarke let out a nervous laugh and shoved the pills into her pocket as quickly as she could.

There was a moment of heavy silence before Abby extended an arm, pulling her daughter in for a hug. "I love you, don't you forget that, okay?"

Clarke closed her eyes, squeezing her mother tight around the shoulders for a brief moment. "I love you too."

Abby pulled back, offering a small smile. Her eyes focused on something behind her and Clarke turned around to see Bellamy standing a few feet away with his hands in his jacket pockets, waiting patiently. She wasn't sure how she felt about him seeing her interacting like that with her mother. She wasn't used to showing emotion, and the whole concept of letting Bellamy into her life was as daunting as it was exciting.

There was a terse set to her mother's face, but a curiosity too as Clarke stood. "Do you mind if I go?"

"Of course not." She glanced down to where Bellamy's hand touched her arm, a quiet greeting.

"Sorry to bother you," Bellamy started, but didn't back away from Clarke. They weren't even touching anymore, but still standing close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his torso. Bellamy hadn't said much about her mother since then, but now that they were together, she could sense that there was something changed between them. "I can go if you're not done."

"No," her mother said to Clarke's surprise. "You two go."

"I'll see you later, Mom," Clarke said with a wave of her hand. "Goodnight."

"They take three days to work, Clarke," Abby said pointedly, looking her straight in the eye.

Clarke avoided Bellamy's confused attempt at eye contact. "_Mom_," she said through her teeth. God, next thing she knew her mother would be handing out tampons to all her friends.

"Goodnight, Clarke."

She retreated as quickly as possible with Bellamy in her wake.

"What was that about?" he asked, fingertips brushing hers as they walked out of the ring of glowing firelight. There were a few floodlights set out about the camp, still on at this hour, but didn't light the worn paths in the dirt very well.

"My mom gave me birth control pills with a very adamant sex talk. I thought I was too old for that." She glanced up to Bellamy and saw him biting his lip, a smile at the corners of his mouth. "And apparently my mortification is hilarious?" But she was starting to smile too, the weight of the situation hanging in the back of her mind.

"Not quite hilarious," he admitted as they headed for the tents.

"Certainly entertaining to see the perfect princess flustered."

She rolled her eyes, their arms brushing through their jackets. Although they weren't touching, they were walking far too close to just be friends. Not that they had anything to hide.

"My tent or yours?" she only asked. As much as they could joke around about it, the abortion still floated in her mind, rearing its head at the most inopportune times.

"Mine's closer."

They slipped into silence, and Clarke thought back to that day spent in pain on the tent ground, how all of that _blood_ had slipped from her body. More than just blood. The beginnings of a baby. A life that would change everything if it would ever arise again. And with Bellamy? Building a life with someone had always seemed so distant, a future that she'd get to one day. Now she was eighteen rapidly approaching nineteen, taking more risks to survive than ever. Reality was that if she wanted a family one day, she shouldn't take too long finding one.

To her surprise, Bellamy slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her against his side as they walked. She looked up at him and he just shrugged.

She studied his face while he looked ahead, the ash and dirt caked over his freckles, damp sweat still darkening the collar of his shirt from a long day of hunting.

He held open the flap of his tent for her and they settled into their nightly routine, flicking on the battery operated lantern hanging from the ceiling.

"You know, thing I don't get though," Clarke mused as she sat to unlace her boots, "is why my mom is suddenly tolerating you. Not that she would inherently complain, just that, you know she doesn't like you."

Bellamy shrugged. "I wouldn't complain about it, whatever it was."

She glanced up to see him pause, frowning against the tent wall. "What is it?"

He shook his head. "She came back to the tent after you fell asleep that day. I think she saw you sleeping on me."

Clarke tugged her boot off, stripping off her socks and stuffing them inside her shoes. She hardly thought her mother would change her mind after seeing _that_. "I doubt that's what did it."

Bellamy kept quiet for a moment, shrugging off his jacket. "Who knows."

"There's something you're not telling me," she said as he wet a rag and began to wipe the day's grime from his face, the back of his neck. She tried to ignore the flex of his triceps as he reached behind his head.

He tossed the rag to her. "You're reading into me too much, Princess."

Clarke raised one eyebrow, knowing he was just trying to find a way out of telling her whatever it was. She folded over the cloth to a clean side and washed her own face, pulling her shirt over her head to get her arms, the top of her chest. "Oh, sure I am."

Bellamy pulled his shirt over his head by the collar, tossing it aside. He opened his arms wide, palms flat to her. "Hey, come on, I've got nothing to say."

She strode forward, pushing his chest slightly. He didn't budge. Now he was just playing with her. "I still don't believe you," she taunted.

He leaned towards her, breath washing over her chin. "Then make me tell you, Princess."

Clarke glanced down to his lips. She could feel the heat radiating off of his chest. She leaned in closer, hovering over his lips. "Nah, I'm good."

She pecked him on the lips and, grinning, pulled back, undoing her pants and stepping out of them.

"Wha—that's not fair!"

She shrugged, looking him dead in the eye as she unhooked her bra and let the straps slip from her shoulders. As soon as the cool air hit her chest, goose bumps prickled along her skin, and she knew her nipples were hard.

Bellamy's eye contact broke as his eyes flashed down to her bare breasts. Three days, she reminded herself. Three days.

She sat down and fished a grey shirt of his from the unmade blankets, tugging it on over her head.

Before she'd even gotten her arms through the sleeves, he'd pushed her back onto the mat, mouth on hers.

She fumbled her arms through the shirt and grasped onto the back of his neck, running her fingers through the thick hair at the nape of his neck. Every movement his mouth made against hers was more teeth than lips, hard and desperate.

"Jesus Clarke, you can't just tease me like that," he muttered into her cheek.

His body was hard against hers, pressing between her bare thighs. She could already feel him half hard against her stomach, below the cold metal of his belt.

"A little eager today, aren't you?" she laughed as he tried to kiss her again.

"You can't just look me dead in the eye while you strip," he murmured into her neck, tongue tasting her skin.

A jolt of heat shocked through her body as he bit at her ear. She pushed the arousal away. _No._ But taunting him was too fun. His teeth nibbled at her pulse point.

"We can't," she said as his warm hands hiked her shirt up.

He paused, pulling back to look at her. "I thought you said that was all over with."

God she just wanted him out of his pants and _in_ her. They hadn't had sex since that night.

"It is. But you heard my mom. Three days. Starting tomorrow." She reached up to rest a hand on his cheek, thumb stroking across his lips.

He nodded at first, and then a sly grin spread across his face, the kind of glint in his eye that made Clarke understand how so many girls had found their way into his tent before.

"Bellamy," she warned.

He kissed her lips, then her chin, her collar bone. One hand reached down to grasp her thigh, fingers digging into her skin. "There's more than one way to skin a cat."

"Wow, great metaphor usage." Her heart was pounding, but she kept her voice calm. "That really turns me on." Sarcasm. She jumped as he cupped her breast through her shirt, pinching her nipple through the thin cotton.

Her self control was all but gone, fingers digging into the blanket as she watched his head duck lower and lower. He tugged her underwear down her legs while his tongue trailed down her stomach, a day's worth of stubble grazing her skin.

"Come now, Princess," he purred against the skin below her navel. "Don't tell me you don't want this either." He looked up at her through a smirk.

She shivered as his nails dragged down her inner thigh.

"At least turn off the light," she consented.

He gave her a sideways smirk and she watched as he rose, shadows flickering over the muscles in his torso, and flipped the switch.

As soon as the tent plunged into darkness, she was on her knees, tugging his belt free. She'd never done this sort of thing before, but the wild heat in her told her that it would be a good thing to try.

"You first," she said, looking up to see the surprise on his face.

Before he even seemed to register what she was doing, she had his pants around his thighs and his length out of his underwear and into her mouth.

He groaned and muttered a string of curses, hand dipping into her hair. She'd half expected it to taste different, but it wasn't really. She pumped him a few times in her mouth, using her hands to cover what she couldn't reach. Her tongue swirled around the tip.

"Fuck, Clarke, how—"

His thighs and abs were tense, and she reached around his hips to grab his ass.

If he'd been half hard before, he was all the way there now, his hips moved with her mouth.

Maybe it was the surprise of it, or maybe she was just better than she thought, but before long he was gasping curses and stuttering out her name, fingers winding so tightly in her hair it was borderline painful.

But the pain made her want to have him tug on her hair more often in the heat of the moment. He was always careful with her, even when he was on top, never going too hard or too fast. He never seemed to lose control of himself and now she wanted him to.

"Watch out, I—"

He tried to push her head away, but she wasn't going to half ass it. She swallowed as his seed pulsed out into her mouth, her hand slowing.

After a moment, his grip on her hair eased and she released him, wiping her damp mouth on the back of her hand.

She rested her hands on her thighs as he sunk onto the mat, pulling her down with him.

"You little devil," he smirked, sounding high.

Clarke smiled into his shoulder. "Never thought I'd be on my knees for you in your tent, did you?"

Bellamy rolled onto her, still smiling. "Well now I'll think about it far too often for my own good."

"You'll get yourself off to it," she teased, half serious.

Bellamy pressed his open mouth to hers and she drew his lower lip between her teeth, feeling very much less the princess and very much more the queen. It wasn't every girl who could boss around Bellamy Blake in his own bed.

"I imagine you think about me getting myself off all the time."

She smiled against his lips and kissed her way to his ear. "Only when I'm getting myself off," she whispered.

He paused, then practically growled. A shock of warmth flooded her stomach.

"And is that very often?"

Clarke slid her hand between them, down to her legs parted around his hips. She was throbbing and soaking wet. "Not as often as I'd like."

He shifted his hips against hers and she knew he could feel her hand. His eyes slid shut. "Fuck."

She nudged him off of her, parting her thighs so her knees touched the mat. "You going to help or not?"

"I think you've got it."

"Bellamy," she whined. She never whined. Her finger found her clit as fast as possible and her hips bucked up of their own accord. She gasped.

"See there, you're doing just fine on your own." He kissed the bend of her neck, eyes still glued to her hand.

She turned her head to him, finding his mouth. A sweat had broken out on the back of her neck and on her chest. A bead was gathering between her breasts. She tried to slip a finger inside, but the angle wasn't good and her fingers were too small. "Your hands are bigger," she said and he slid one hand over her stomach, up under her shirt and over her breast.

"Only if you say please." He rubbed a thumb over one peaked nipple and retreated, the ass.

She found her clit again, rubbing harder. A small moan slipped out.

"_Please_," she whispered.

His hand brushed down her stomach. "I can't hear you, Princess."

She started her hips moving against her fingers.

"Please, Bellamy," she groaned in his ear, grabbing his bicep with her free hand. She was so desperate then that she didn't even care that she'd given into his demands.

His hand slid down her stomach. Paused.

"Bellamy!" she urged and his hand slipped down over hers, swiping over her opening first.

"God, you're wet." Two fingers slipped inside and her thighs tightened. A moan slipped out.

"Apparently that's what happens when you want sex," she said breathily. His wet thumb found her clit and she arched with a gasp.

How was it possible that someone else's fingers could feel so much better than her own?

She didn't even care. His fingers made quick work of her until she was a panting, moaning mess.

With each movement of his hand, she pictured him on top of her, hips pushing against hers as he sunk into her over and over again.

She'd never considered sex anything different from fucking, and suddenly it all made sense. She wanted him to pull on her hair again. She wanted a good _fuck_.

God, his fingers.

He brought her to the edge and then sent her careening off the edge with a flick of his thumb and a bite just under her ear.

When the pleasure wracking her body subsided, she rolled onto her side to face him. He was breathing just as hard as she was.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could already see him beginning to harden again.

"Three days is a long time to wait," she said, tracing her fingers between his pectorals. He was so worked up that his chest was slick with sweat.

He nudged her chin up and covered her mouth with his. Slow and unrushed: the coda to their night. One hand wove through her hair, keeping her lips firmly against his.

"I don't know how we'll survive it," he said once she'd pulled away.

She smiled against his cheek.

"If you think I'm going to give you an easy time, you'd better think again. Don't think I've forgotten that you're hiding something from me."

He scoffed out a laugh. "Your mind blowing orgasm didn't make you forget? Damn. I must be slipping."

Clarke gave him a light punch in the ribs. "After everything that's happened, you're still keeping secrets?" After her words were out, she realized she might sound more irked than she actually was.

"I'm not—" he let out a ragged breath. Her tone must have gotten to him, because that little line appeared between his eyebrows, his lips thin. "Don't push me on this. It won't make me say it any faster."

Clarke drew back at his snap and ground her teeth, the high she was still riding suddenly gone. Why did he have to be such an ass sometimes? "Watch out, Bellamy, your jerk is showing." She sat up and searched for her clothes.

"Hey," he snapped. "What did I do? You're the one being completely unreasonable."

Clarke tugged her pants over her hips, her underwear too hard to find in the dark. She was already wearing his shirt, so she grabbed her bra and pulled her jacket on. "You're the one getting angry with me. I'm only asking you to tell me what's going on. So until you can stop lying to me, don't bother talking at all."

She snapped open the tent and headed for her own. Of all the idiotic men on Earth, why did she have to fall for Bellamy Blake?

**Bellamy's just digging himself into a hole with this one. How will he tell her? **


	4. Chapter 4

**If you looked up "fluff" in the dictionary, you'd see the end of this chapter. Be warned. (Also, thanks to you guys who caught the typos in the last chapter *blushes* I wasn't very careful with my proofread) **

Bellamy regretted letting her go as soon as Clarke left the tent, but he was still so mad that he just sat there, fists clenched in the blanket. She'd gotten mad so quickly it took him a moment to recover from the wrenching turn of their conversation. Hell, he was still half hard.

Sure, he probably should've just been honest with her and said it—it's just three words after all—but this was her mess she'd gotten them into. All it would have taken was a little bit more prodding—had she ever thought of oh, asking nicely?—and it would have been out.

He knew he couldn't just sit in his tent or he'd never be able to sleep, so he fumbled for his clothes in the darkness. _A walk it is, then._

He tugged the laces of his boots secure and was on his way out of his tent, hands in his jacket pockets. Before he hadn't noticed the chill but without Clarke to distract him, the brisk chill of autumn was annoyingly obvious.

Damn his embarrassment. They were just emotions. Why was it so fucking difficult then? It wasn't even that important. But in the back of his head that was just a lame excuse. Of course it was fucking important. It was even more important because he rarely said those three words. Throwing around 'I love you's' had never been his style. When he slept with a girl, he made sure that she knew and understood that it was just a hook up, just a means to get out pent up sexual frustration, nothing more. And then somewhere along the way, Clarke had showed up and screwed up his whole bachelor game.

Bellamy was well aware that he knew nothing of romance. How was he supposed to know what girls liked? Why couldn't they just be straightforward? To say nothing of the mood swings. God, trapped in that tiny compartment with a fourteen year old Octavia on her period had been hell.

He could see the bonfire still bustling with life across camp but social interaction seemed too much of an effort so he headed for the far side of the camp where the half constructed cabins lined up in rows behind the Ark crash. It would be quiet, out of the way.

He thought back to that day, the image of Abby walking away from his tent just seconds after his "I love you" while Clarke had been sleeping on his shoulder. Surely she'd heard, there was no way she couldn't have, not with the way she was acting now.

Bellamy grimaced. But now it was a big deal. He'd only said it in the heat of the moment and as soon as the words had slipped from his mouth, he'd known they were true. As much as it pained him to admit, he was in love with Clarke. No trying to talk himself out of that one.

Even though she was angry with him and still wasn't sure if he wanted to kiss or shake some sense into her, he was still in awe of her. Never in his life had he grown to respect and trust someone to such a level. With Octavia, his love for her was that a protector. Every thought in his brain was wired with the urge to keep her safe.

With Clarke, his love was that of an equal—dare he say his superior?—in every way. While he still wanted to protect her and see her safe, he beamed with pride when she took a stance and stood up for what she thought was right, even if he was on the other side—_especially_ if he was on the other side.

And even more, he realized as he came out on the other side of the Ark, was her trust in him. They'd follow each other into any battle—they'd done it before and he knew they'd do it again—but she wasn't afraid to tell him when she thought he was being stupid—which apparently was a frequent occurrence.

He trusted her judgments, but he'd oppose her if he thought it was for the best. There were no hard feelings during their debates. They were simply both reaching for the same ends through different means, willing to sacrifice different things for the same outcome.

A voice called out in the darkness, disrupting him from his thoughts. "Bellamy? That you?"

He jolted to see Murphy looking down from the southern guard post, a wooden scaffold erected for watch duties.

"Hey Murphy, didn't realize you were on duty tonight." He headed for the base of the structure. Maybe a distraction would be good for him.

"Yeah, you know how it is around here: work, work, work. Where you headed this late?"

Bellamy paused. Murphy was no expert on women, _that_ was for sure, but maybe that was a good thing. "Mind if I come up?"

"Nah, it's pretty boring at the moment. There's not much to watch."

Bellamy set up the ladder, the roughly cut wooden rungs catching the callouses on his palms. He emerged through the floor of the second story and Murphy hauled him up, swinging the automatic rifle over his shoulder once they were both righted.

"I just wanted to get out for a while," Bellamy said, looking out over the dark forest. The trees spread out across the moonlight valley rustled in the light breeze. "Have some peace, hopefully."

"Clarke giving you trouble?" Murphy snorted, leaning on the railing.

Bellamy frowned in confusion. They hadn't exactly been open with whatever their relationship was, so of all the problems on the ground that he could be dealing with, why would he assume it was even a girl at all, much less Clarke? "What?"

"I'm kidding, take a joke," Murphy said with raised eyebrows.

They stood in companionable silence for a few moments until Bellamy spoke up again. "How do you get a girl un-mad at you?"

Murphy chuckled. "Bellamy's having girl troubles? Never thought I'd live to see the day where there was a girl you couldn't satisfy."

Bellamy punched him in the arm. "Oh come on, I have plenty of girl troubles."

Murphy didn't look convinced. "Yeah but never anything that doesn't involve how to make her leave your tent looking happy as hell and off to tell all her friends about how many times you made her come."

"Hey, watch it. I'm still your superior officer."

"So what you're saying is this _is_ about Clarke."

"When did I ever say she and I were a thing?" Bellamy insisted. But shit, if Murphy could guess, who else knew?

Murphy laughed, shaking his head. "Obviously you're not as observant as the rest of us."

Bellamy tried to ignore the implications of what he'd just heard. "_Us_?"

Murphy shrugged. "Yeah, the whole camp pretty much, or at least most of us original hundred. You know you really can't argue. As much as you two try to hide it, everyone knows you sleep in the same tent now. Miller was just talking today about how he went to get those maps you asked for and saw Clarke's jacket and clothes hanging to dry with yours. We're not stupid, you know."

_Shit_. His jaw clenched reflexively. Apparently he wasn't as good at keeping his emotions in check as he thought if he was slipping this badly.

"So why'd she mad? You forget her birthday or something?"

"First off, we're _not_ in a relationship." That was a lie. "Second off, it's completely stupid. She thinks I'm keeping secrets." He wasn't about to bring up love with fucking John Murphy.

"Are you?"

"Not the way she thinks I am."

Murphy's jacket rustled as he shrugged. "Can't you just tell her? She probably won't forgive you till you do. Chicks are crazy like that."

Bellamy hesitated. He was already treading on dangerous ground as it was without Murphy knowing the details. "It's more of a _how_ do I tell her."

Murphy grunted. "Then sounds like you're in some pretty serious shit."

"Girls are fucking weird," Bellamy muttered in reply, bracing his forearms on the railing.

Murphy suddenly snickered. "Sex her up first, then tell her."

"I can't have sex with her first," Bellamy said slowly. "She doesn't even want to talk to me."

"Sure you can't just go down on her? Girls fly off the handle for shit like that. Clarke just needs to loosen up anyway. That's killing two birds with one stone."

Bellamy sent a "really?" deadpan look to his friend. "Watch your mouth, Murphy."

He raised both hands in surrender. "All right, all right. What about flowers? Girls like flowers."

Bellamy shrugged. Would Clarke appreciate something like that? Maybe. It was worth a shot. "It's a possibility."

"I don't know, man, girls confuse the shit out of me. How do you even know she's mad? For all you know she could just be hormonal."

Bellamy winced at the mental image of Clarke storming out of his tent. "Don't ever let Clarke hear you say that or you'll probably end up with faulty medicine. Her words were pretty damn clear. We fought. She walked out of my tent. Here I am."

"Shit, Bellamy, you just let her go! That's probably the dumbest fucking mistake in the whole book!"

"How was I supposed to know that?!" Apparently he knew even less about women than ever. How did Murphy even know this shit?

"I don't know! Jesus Christ, now she _really_ hates you." He shook his head, muttering more curses.

Bellamy's heart plummeted. Damn. If Murphy was right for once, he shouldn't have let her walk out. Now what the hell was he going to do?

* * *

><p>Clarke woke up the next morning with a groan at the sunlight leaking through the thin tent. She rolled over towards Bellamy's warmth, folding her legs under the rumpled blanket.<p>

But her hands found nothing and suddenly she remembered the previous night. God, what a mess. She probably shouldn't have acted like that. For all her disapproval of the girls who got angry at the drop of a hat, she was sure working her way up to that status.

She sat up, pushing her hair back from her face and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. After all that had happened in the past week, he was suddenly closed off? Maybe she shouldn't have flown off the handle, but he still pissed her off.

Grumbling to herself, she changed out of his shirt she'd been sleeping in and pulled on a clean set of clothes, surprised to find that most of her limited selection of shirts and pants were still in his tent. She attempted to sort through the tangles of her hair to make it somewhat publicly presentable and headed out.

Tuesdays had her gathering nuts, berries, and hopefully roots to store for the coming winter, after which she worked in the infirmary with her mother, continuing her training. Hopefully she'd be able to avoid any more confrontations with Bellamy for now.

The group on rotation with her was just starting to gather by the gate, a small collection of men, women, and children waiting for the morning's orders. Clarke didn't know any of them personally and she wasn't keen on talking, so she stood to the side, fiddling with the empty woven sack that would hopefully be full by lunch time.

She gazed around the camp at everyone getting ready to go on their daily work hauls, different groups gathering in different locations for hunting, guard training, meal preparation, and building staff, others heading inside the Ark for the teams that met there.

Across the way near the hunters—a group of mainly men, spring traps, bows, and empty bags over their shoulders—she spotted Bellamy. He was talking to Octavia, his arms folded across his chest. He didn't even look angry, smiling at something his sister said.

Clarke huffed out a breath and chewed on the inside of her cheek. Fine. She could act just as normal. Nothing was wrong.

They set off through the gates a few moments later, and she glanced back to see him watching her, an undiscernible expression on his face. She snapped her head back around and followed the man in front of her, hoping—but knowing better—that she could ignore the frustrations tearing at her insides.

The gatherers spread out through the forest, each taking a solitary spot to pick berries from the low-growing bushes or dig up the strong onion roots that grew in grassy patches of sunlight.

Clarke found a ring of mushrooms first that had little speckles that most certainly did _not_ remind her of Bellamy's freckles, and the acorns they could grind into a sort of paste definitely weren't the same shade of brown as his eyes.

Fucking Bellamy Blake.

Despite the cool breeze filtering through the trees, the sun warmed Clarke's back as she worked, and she calmed to the sound of the cicadas buzzing high in the foliage.

Though many of the others were talking through their spread of the woods, Clarke was content with silence as she worked, though the regret of her words with Bellamy the previous night hovered in the back of her mind. She'd half hoped he would have come by her tent after, but she'd lain in bed for a good half hour with nothing to show for it before she'd finally tossed and turned her way into sleep.

As she worked her way over the ground, her sack filled more and more and her worry followed suite. What if he'd been trying to tell her that he only liked her in a friends with benefits kind of way? What if—

She cut herself off, tugging on the shoots of a few wild onions. She wouldn't get carried away with it. Maybe it was just nothing and she'd made an even bigger fool of herself than she'd thought.

Within the hour came the call for her group to stop and head to lunch, and she tried not to get too deep in thought as they walked the trail back to camp. _Don't make a mountain out of a molehill_. Too late for that.

As soon as she'd dropped off her sack in the storeroom, she spotted one of the hunters back in camp and didn't have time to prepare herself before Bellamy emerged from the smokehouse next.

He immediately spotted her—_shit_—and she glanced away, but could see him heading for her with a determined gait.

Her feet were glued to the ground and she chewed on the inside of her cheek.

"Hey," she said as he approached, keeping a few feet between them.

"Hey, I wanted to know if you could meet me later. After lunch? I ah—" he scratched the back of his neck. "I have something I need to say."

Clarke tried not to look surprised. And here she thought he was going to chew her out. "Yeah, I suppose I can. . ." She bit her lip, looking away from him. Although the anger had dissipated between them, there was a tension she couldn't place, as if they were both waiting for the other to run in the opposite direction.

"Good. My tent?"

"Yeah. I'll see you then." Clarke's heart pounded in her chest for seemingly no reason at all. Whatever she'd been expecting, it hadn't been that.

* * *

><p>Clarke stalled eating as much as she could, but after she'd stirred around the soggy vegetables as much as she could and forced them down her unsettled stomach, she knew she couldn't put it off any longer.<p>

Her mind was surprisingly blank as she crossed camp to Bellamy's tent. What would he tell her?

"Bellamy, it's me," she said, pulling back the flap of his tent, uncertain. What was the etiquette in these situations? Was it right to just walk in? The tension that had been there not a half an hour ago said she shouldn't.

He appeared in the gap. "There you are, Princess." He took her hand to pull her inside and something in her chest eased at the nickname.

He'd bothered to clean, she noticed first thing; his clothes were put away and folded in their crate and even his bed was made, the clutter gone from the small living space.

"Here," he said quickly, offering her a small bouquet of half-wilted flowers. Her heart constricted. She'd heard about men giving women flowers of course, it was a classic trope in stories from the ground. She'd always imagined huge bouquets of flowers she'd only ever seen pictures of, and somehow Bellamy standing in front of her with a little mostly-crushed handful of wildflowers and a practically pleading look on his face was sweeter than all the stories.

"I don't know if you even like flowers. Murphy told me it was a good idea, but I don't even know if I should have listened to him at all, I—"

She took the slender bouquet, the uneven stems barely long enough to grab and met his now nervous and slightly embarrassed eyes. "Thank you Bellamy, that's very sweet of you." He opened his mouth to say something, but she jumped the gun. "Before you say anything, I want to say sorry for overreacting last night. I don't know what I was thinking."

Bellamy took a step towards her, that little crease between his eyebrows forming. "No, Clarke, I should have just come out and said this I—" He closed his eyes and took a long breath. His hand reached for hers. "Let's sit down."

"Okay," Clarke said slowly. Was this a sitting down sort of conversation to have? At least he didn't seem mad. She carefully set her wildflowers down and sat cross-legged on his mat across from him.

"I wasn't telling you the complete truth about last week."

Her heart dropped into her stomach but she kept her expression firm. It was too late to change anything now. Had he. . . had he wanted to keep it?

"I'm terribly, terribly, _especially_ bad at figuring out girls beyond a. . . well, a hook up, and this is quite obviously more than that." He cleared his throat and a pang of sympathy shot through her when she realized how nervous he was. It was endearing. Dare she think, adorable? "Your mom doesn't hate me I don't think—or at least tolerates me—because she accidently heard me talking to you while you were asleep."

So this was about her _mom_? Plus did he just admit that he. . . "You talk to me while I'm asleep?" After the words came out, she heard them and hoped he wouldn't take them the wrong way. This new side of Bellamy wasn't one she wanted to scare back into hiding.

He shifted, looking away from her. "Just that once," he said quickly. "I—"

"Bellamy that's fine," she said with an encouraging smile. "In fact, that's more than f—"

"I love you," he blurted out, and Clarke could only stop, trying to figure out if she'd heard him correctly. She stared at him with wide eyes, taking in his serious expression, the way his brows came together over his eyes.

She blinked, all the worry gone. Oh. _Oh_.

"Fucking damn it," he muttered, pursing his lips. "I shouldn't have said that."

Clarke leaned forward and pressed her lips to his before he could say anything else. He softened against her and before he'd even had time to return the kiss, she pulled back. She'd never been so certain of anything in her life. "I love you too." It seemed as natural to her as breathing that they should love each other. She trusted him with her life, and that was a sort of love all on its own.

He rested his forehead against hers, arms loose around her back.

_That's_ what he'd been so reluctant to tell her? God, for all his rough edges and practically tyrannical leadership approaches, was he a huge softie at heart.

"Don't think this means I won't argue with you," she laughed, drawing back from his face, her hand still clasped at the nape of his neck.

"Same for you, Princess, I'm looking forward to all our future political arguments." The elated part of her mind considered talking politics in bed, arguing over government structure while he had her pinned to the mattress. Another part of her mind she shushed back into a corner imagined a different aspect of their future, a world where she'd made a different decision about the baby.

"That's not exactly a tall order to fill." Her smile lingered and a serious note echoed in his eyes, his mouth relaxing.

He held eye contact, a hand sliding up to her cheek, brushing back strands of hair from her face.

Her heart felt like it stopped for the second it took him to lean forward to press his lips to hers.

His kiss was slow to build. He kissed her as if they had all the time in the world, his thumb brushing her jaw, the light pressure of his arm pulling her into his lap. Her ankles crossed behind his back.

The kiss built the fire slowly, stoking the embers until every inch of her skin was feverish with his touch.

She could feel it in his lips as they pressed over her cheek and down her jawline. _I love you._ His palms sliding over her back. _I love you._ His heart pounding a rhythm in time with hers. _I love you._

**Is this the end? I'm not 100% happy with this chapter, but I feel like this story ends here. Regardless, I have a few new Bellarke ideas that will hopefully be out soon, either on my new writing tumblr (**** .com)****, or here.**


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